Daydream Believer
by ray4ruffles
Summary: "You live in the clouds..." "He never thinks things through..." Neal has thoughts- lots of them.  The reality just doesn't always match up.  One-shot ficlets.
1. Forging Bonds

**A/N**: I love Neal- his imagination knows no bounds. So when people say he never thinks things through, I look at all of his (alleged) accomplishments and say "Really?" So I decided to make up little ficlets about what Neal thought was going to happen. There's no real order, they span from pre-season to S3- basically anything with a reference is up for grabs. Pretty heavy on Kate, but that's kind of to be expected with their history.

**A/A/N**: I'll try to reference the episode that inspired the chapter, just so you can trace my train of thought (if that helps).

**A/A/A/N**: Still don't own White Collar- color me surprised.

* * *

><p>The night was cool and crisp as Neal stirred from his sleep. His feet were already on the ground, gripping the floorboards and sliding his body from the warm sheets before his mind caught up with the source of his awakening: the beginning sounds of fussing traveling through the monitor beside his bed. He quietly finished standing, careful not to wake the sleeping brunette beside him as he slipped through the hallway.<p>

"Hey, sweet girl," he cooed, scooping up the tiny form from its crib and into his arms. He rocked the bundle gently, whispering soothing noises as he made his way toward the window and attempted to lull his daughter back to sleep.

Neal Caffrey looked out into the city and smiled in contentment. Alex had offered them the world after they found and fenced the music box—the three of them had made quite a team. But Neal and Kate were ready to live the life they'd always talked about, with more money than they could have imagined, just as Alex had originally promised. They'd jumped the next morning's flight to France, and made their way to the Cote d'Azur, quoting multiple lines as Cary Grant and Grace Kelly (although Grace could never hold a candle to Kate). They made a life for themselves for two years, traveling in style and in love as they lived out their dream.

Neal probably would have stayed forever, but when he caught Kate talking wistfully about life in New York, he'd promptly packed them up and bought two one-way tickets to JFK. And he never regretted it—it was their city, and their park, and their _not_ crappy townhouse within blocks of their violinist that they filled with touches that made it home: original paintings of both of their memories, photographs that caught their eyes, and an excellent wine list.

The former con man took up a job as a freelance consultant, moving around the city to give his expertise to those he used to view as targets. He proposed to Kate the way he'd always dreamed: in their park, with the perfect (not quite stolen) ring, and she'd agreed. Neal gave up the bonds and forgeries and heists. The only cons he pulled were the ones to get the better table at their favorite restaurants and shows; so they never heard or worried about FBI Special Agent Peter Burke again.

Mozzie, of course, had originally opposed all of Neal's plans of domesticity and retirement; however, especially after Lily had been born, he'd quickly become accustomed to the new "Uncle" addition to his moniker. After all, who could not become enamored with such a girl with Kate's beauty engraved into her every feature—except for that smile; that classic Caffrey smile.

Neal'd finally gotten it all, and he smiled again as the tiny girl's cries subsided and he tucked her back into her covers, kissing her forehead gently as she slid her thumb into her mouth and grabbed the plush turtle with a security camera tucked into its bowler hat (Kate would have protested harder against Moz's present, but Lily had fallen in love with it instantly, thereby securing its place by her side). He took one last glance around the room before sneaking back down the hall and slipping under the covers, smiling as the soft hand of the half-sleeping woman next to him entwined with his own.

As the soft light of the quarter moon shone through their window, the only thoughts that floated through his head were of his life's perfection.

* * *

><p>Suddenly, Neal was jostled awake as he hit his head against hard plastic. He opened his eyes groggily, trying to regain his bearings. The dim light around him shone on cushioned seats, lined in rows with various middle-aged persons either sleeping or tapping away on laptops.<p>

A woman in a pressed navy cotton-poly blend uniform approached him. "Do you need anything sir?" she asked, smiling sweetly as she lowered herself to his eye level.

"No; thank you," Neal replied, reciprocating her smile with his own classic expression.

"We should be landing in about an hour," the flight attendant informed him kindly, straightening and walking toward the next row, glancing back once more at the charming man sitting alone in first class.

Neal straightened himself, blinking as he glanced out the window into the night. He'd be arriving in Copenhagen in an hour.

He wished he hadn't left things so badly with Kate, but she would understand. He'd meet up with Alex, and they'd get the music box. Then he'd find Kate, and they'd make up and have everything they'd dreamed of. Everything was going to work out—he just knew it.


	2. Out of the Box

Neal shuffled through the kitchen as the morning rays just glimpsed over the balcony. He was trying to quietly put together a goat-cheese omelet, but chopping up vegetables and keeping the pan from scraping the stove was becoming quite a challenge, and he really didn't want to wake Kate. They'd been up late last night—a thought whose mere presence brought a brilliant smile to his face—and she'd planned for them to go apartment-hunting that afternoon. Although June had been more than welcoming to the idea of Kate moving in, and the two women got along better than Neal could have ever hoped, the love of his life had hinted that with Neal's sentence—and therefore his area restriction—on countdown mode, perhaps it would be best if they looked into finding their own piece of paradise.

_Somewhere close to a park_, she added as if it was an afterthought; but the way she played with the glittering emerald ring perfectly resting on her left hand told the former con man she was just turning him into putty, as he always became when he was with her, and therefore pliable to any idea she could come up with.

As he sprinkled some green onions into the morning dish, Neal smiled at the sleeping form occupying his bed. Peter and Kate were still by no means besties, but out of respect for his partner, the agent had offered an olive branch to his soul mate. In return, Kate, like Mozzie, helped Neal take on cons—_sorry Peter, __**stings**_—to help take down the bad guys. She wouldn't admit it outright, but the CI was fairly certain that the blue-eyed beauty was more proud of what her fiancée was accomplishing on _this_ side of the law than anything he'd done before.

Which was exactly why when, last month, Peter talked about Neal's options for a real career—outside of his "work release" as he'd once referred to it— the ex-con had readily agreed to Peter's offer of making him a full-time consultant. An official position, with a real paycheck and everything—Neal wasn't sure who was more proud: the agent or Kate.

When he thought back to that day at the hangar—all of the goodbyes he'd made, the walk toward the plane—Neal couldn't help but actually be grateful that Peter had showed up the way he did, talking him out of taking off with Kate to their getaway and new imagined life in some unknown destination. They'd caught Fowler soon after, taking him down for good; and though it had taken a lot of convincing, the ex-con had convinced his breathtaking brunette to stay in New York with him under Peter's protection and turn a new leaf.

At some point, he had even convinced her to have dinner with Peter and Elizabeth, though June had suggested hosting and Moz's attendence had been requested to act as interference, since Kate always got along so well with both of them. It was unbelievable though—Kate and El had really hit it off, and his then-girlfriend had soon-after found a job at Burke's Premier Events, which made her much more comfortable about the idea of staying.

Neal flipped the eggs over, working to brown the other side to perfection, and found his eyes glancing over at a yearly calendar posted nearby. Kate had put it up on the refrigerator, savoring the giant red X's that the two made together as each day passed. And now it was only three more months until the anklet came off for good; when the money that he and Kate had been saving would pay for their small service in Madison Square Park surrounded by their closest friends—practically family now. He'd already enlisted Peter as his best man and Moz had promised to keep it simple and relevant as the officiate. As of now, June was still officially Kate's matron of honor, but he didn't think anybody was going to be surprised when she finally realized that she wanted Elizabeth standing next to her. Nobody had been as supportive of the two of them as Elizabeth, and Neal wasn't sure he even knew where to begin to express his gratitude to the woman. The best part, of course, was the "surprise" for his bride that June and Elizabeth had helped him put together—a red-eye flight to that eternal dream of whispering olive trees on the Cote d'Azur. For a week it was theirs, and then back to New York—back home.

He watched Kate stir from her place in the sheets, and smirked as she rubbed her eyes and sleepily smiled as the smell of a specialty omelet wafted in the air around them. He was nothing but grateful as he gazed upon his very own eternity unfolding before him.

* * *

><p>"Peter…" Neal said, pausing as he decided how to explain his change of heart. The thoughts sounded so strange even in his head.<p>

And then he was thrown to the ground.

A blast of heat engulfed him, and the con man felt he'd been thrown into the sun. He heard a roar as an angry wave passed overhead, and he continued lying on the ground as he tried to understand what had just happened.

Then he saw Peter—his face full of shock and fear as he broke into a run. Neal realized the angry wave had come from behind him…

_Kate._

Neal scurried to his feet, whirling and pushing forward as he saw the damning flames and the already smoldering debris and rubble surrounding him. He rushed into Hell to find the woman he loved; to save her.

_No!__** No!**_

But Peter was holding on to him; he wouldn't let go as he kept shouting words that meant nothing to Neal's ears. Peter held his friend back as Neal kicked and screamed and watched in horror as his whole life was taken from him.


	3. Taking Account

Neal slowly opened his eyes, adjusting them to the midday sun. He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep, but the warmth and serenity of the day had crept over him, and he'd found himself shutting his eyes for what he'd thought was just a moment. He sat up, toes nestling deeper into the sand as he glanced around at the happy couples and families occupying the area with him.

Further down by the water he found what he was searching for—a tiny form dancing in and out of the waves, his swimsuit soaked as he was pulled to the ground by the tide. His dark brown curls flopped every which way, and he shrieked in delight as the new swell's foam surrounded and crashed over him.

Neal watched as Jake took advantage of the water's effect on the sand around him, sliding his hands under the sea and dragging the mud into his lap. His legs waved back and forth, and he dug his fingers deeper into the soft earth, laughing at the beautiful mess he was making.

The toddler let out another joyous squeal as a beautiful woman sauntered over to him, her silky auburn hair pulled back in an elegant ponytail as she placed her hands under his shoulders and pulled him to his feet, dragging him along the top of the sea still flowing around them in a clever strategy to clean off the worst of the muck, then standing him upright and pointing back toward where the former con man sat smiling.

* * *

><p>As the pair began walking toward him, matching green eyes reflecting their happiness, and Neal grinned at his good fortune. Revealing the treasure to Sara had been a huge risk, and she definitely had more than a few reservations about keeping it from Peter. In fact, she wasn't fond of the plan to run off with Neal still technically owing the FBI three years of service and convinced him he'd probably feel guilty betraying Peter like that.<p>

So Neal told Mozzie—they'd gotten the manifest and sold the treasure, bit by bit, to ease his friend's mind while he'd finished out his sentence with Peter in New York. Mozzie had been great, considering his impatience in the whole matter. He'd put together the funds, made deals with Hale and trips out of the country to cover their tracks and take care of their retirement, and eventually Bob and Victor Moreau had accumulated everything they needed to start fresh without Peter or the Bureau ever knowing.

And Peter—well, without a trail, he'd eventually given up chasing Neal's connection. They'd gone back to being Peter and Neal, with an amazing conviction rate and a brilliant rapport. And when his four years had passed and Peter was asking him about his future plans (the FBI wouldn't hire him—he did have a felony record, after all), he'd vaguely told Peter he and Sara had decided to travel and take in the places he'd missed in almost a decade of limited allowable mobility. Peter had probably gone through all of his travel plans, his listed stopovers and hotel rooms- he'd certainly asked about Victor more than once- but everything in Victor's plans and past was completely legitimate, so the two had parted on good terms. From there, Moz, Neal, and Sara had packed up and left New York for good. Neal and Sara settled on a seaside estate near Cassis, with Mozzie investing in an island a short private jet ride away. His wife, never one to really stay still, had picked right up and started a new position as a freelance security consultant, and Neal had gone back to painting—originals instead of reproductions, something he'd rarely done since his teens.

Neal had to admit—sometimes he missed Peter, the Bureau, the city. They still exchanged letters and pictures, e-mails, Skype, and phone calls (all bounced through random servers and far away from their actual home), but the con couldn't bring himself to go back to New York, not yet. For now, all of that was his past, and he had pretty much moved forward—living the life he always dreamed, with Sara and Jacob right there next to him.

* * *

><p>The blue-eyed father grabbed the towels he'd been using as a pillow as the rest of his family trekked toward him, using one to completely envelope the little boy and slowly wrapping the other around his wife, slowly pressing the material onto her damp skin.<p>

"Hey," he greeted them, kissing the ex-insurance investigator before squatting down to use the end of the cloth to sweep over the child's mat of hair. "How's the water, little man?"

The boy laughed and clapped his hands together. "Again!" he shouted, grabbing his father's hands and attempting to pull them back toward the sea.

"Nope," Sara informed the both of them. "Daddy fell asleep, and therefore missed the fun." She picked up the designer watch she'd left on the chaise. "The plane's taking off in two hours," she added.

Neal grinned, picking his son up as he stood and bringing him eye level. "You ready to spend some time with your Uncle Mozzie?"

The tiny brunette grinned and squealed "Uncah Mossie!" in response. Mozzie may never have approved of domestic bliss, but he'd definitely grown into his role as part of the family, and Jake followed the older man around with a reverence that couldn't help but make Neal laugh.

It had pretty much turned out perfect then, because it also meant he and Sara had the opportunity to jet around the Riviera and Europe to spend a little time just for themselves, and he was always happy to take her everywhere from the classiest boutiques and shows to the quaintest and most colorful market places where he'd sometimes sell his pieces.

As the three of them left the warm sands and made their way toward the car, Neal Caffrey couldn't help the deeply contented sigh that escaped his lips. And when Sara looked at him curiously, he could only grin as he kissed her again, because this was everything life should be.

* * *

><p>Neal strummed the guitar, pensive as he considered his daydream. "These past few days — they remind me of the Palazzo Sasso," he told Sara. "They've been perfect."<p>

The woman smiled at him incredulously. "You're really hung up on that hotel."

The consultant shook his head; he wasn't explaining it right. "It wasn't just the hotel," he told her earnestly. "It was a time in my life when I had everything I was looking for — freedom, excitement, comfort, and the right people to share it with." His hand loosened on the guitar, playing with the computer in front of him.

"You think this might be another one of those moments?" Sara asked.

He could see the scene playing in his head, slowly typing the keys that could open their future. "What if I told you that we could keep living like this?"

The woman's green eyes glinted in her amusement. "What? Rich beyond measure, unaccountable to anyone or anything, not a care in the world?"

Neal leaned forward eagerly. "Is that a yes?"

"No, it's a daydream."

The con wasn't giving up yet. "Maybe daydreams can come true."

"And that is why I like you," Sara replied, smiling happily. "Because you dreamed all of this up. And it really has been a hell of a lot of fun."

"But?"

The beautiful woman sitting across from him looked at him. "But we didn't earn it, Neal. People like me don't get gold-plated guitars. Not legally." She paused, suddenly serious; almost apologetic. "Hey, I don't cross any line I can't come back from."

Neal felt his heart chip away as he closed the laptop and the potential between the two of them, realizing what he was losing. But he never let it show. "And I'd never ask you to."

"Okay," Sara replied, somewhat satisfied. "Well, maybe this is our Palazzo Sasso, then. But I think you're forgetting a very important part of that story. The Palazzo Sasso didn't last."

The con kept his eyes on the closed machine, maybe a moment too long, before schooling his features into an expression more acceptable for the hypothetical conversation. "Yeah," he agreed, smiling as he moved to pluck another chord on his instrument.


	4. Point Blank

The last rays of day began sinking over the horizon. And Neal Caffrey, even now, was nothing if not a romantic, so he appreciated the cliché as he entered the building.

He was armed, but the weapon was inconsequential: he had no use for it. He made his way up the stairs, feeling the cold air envelope him in the shadows as he made his way toward his destination.

Opening the door, he entered the room where ex-FBI Agent Garrett Fowler sat. The room was beautiful, filled with pieces that any other day he would have perused and considered and tucked into the back of his mind for inspiration the next time he needed his canvas for a distraction.

Today was different.

* * *

><p>Of course Neal had suspected it; ever since the plane exploded in front of him, maybe even when he'd first received the envelope in that back alley deal. The government doesn't throw money at operations to help criminals start over, far away where no one can find them. Fowler had gotten the music box: what more did he need from Kate, from Neal? And so he put together the perfect cover, convinced that no one would dig too deep into OPR's work.<p>

Except Peter did, and Kate, worried, had called what they'd thought was their saving grace for help. And Fowler had killed her. A series of numbers on a burn phone, and everything that was good and beautiful in this world went up in flames and smoke. The bastard probably couldn't have cared less—hadn't lost any sleep over the life he'd taken, the lives he'd ruined. But Neal could still hear her scream at night, when he let his thoughts go unattended too long; could see her eyes wide in shock and agony. Or maybe they were just his own.

Peter had saved him, and Neal found a new purpose. On the surface, he remained Neal Caffrey-con man and clever consultant to the Federal Bureau. But really, everything he was underneath that dazzling smile and smooth panache was a one-track mind—knowing that Kate needed justice, and no prison in the world could give it to her.

* * *

><p>The con felt a numbness that had nothing to do with the weather as he watched Fowler look up at him. His eyes were afraid, and Neal knew it had to do with the implement he had tucked away. But that was too quick, too <em>good<em> for someone like the scum in front of him. Neal knew he'd never have the patience to destroy someone the way this man deserved to die. The only way that would make him understand Kate's pain.

"Why did you kill Kate?" he asked the man, not quite able to get his words to match his expression.

"She was in the way," came the smug answer. The answer of a man wearing bravado as he cowered behind a badge. "You were _both_ in the way. That box contains everything, and I couldn't allow anyone to know. Which means we'll be coming after you and Peter next." He managed a laugh. "Everyone you know, you care about—done."

That's when the agent's brown eyes began to morph, the expression warping from a masked fear, to open confusion, to pain. Neal remained cold, unmoving as the man began trembling, choking on an unknown substance—some sort of toxin, maybe, or perhaps tension pneumothorax. Fowler's trembling progressed into heavy spasms, as he collapsed to the floor, gripping his chest as he struggled for air.

In his eyes were terror, agony. The agent was staring up into a pair of bright blue eyes, desperate for air, help-some sort of salvation. Neal Caffrey had none for him; he simply watched as the man responsible for all of his pain, for Kate's pain, struggled against the destruction overtaking him.

Maybe before he died Fowler would pull his gun and shoot the CI opportunistically watching his suffering from a mere three feet away. Or maybe Peter would appear, as he always seemed to, and send him back to prison, or see the implement he'd tucked away and think he was a threat, jumping to conclusions as his partner so often did.

It didn't matter, Neal thought as he watched the awkward jerking slowly subside in Fowler's movements, watched the life in his eyes slowly, painfully extinguish. None of it mattered anymore.

* * *

><p>Neal stared at nothing, lost in his own darkness. The obsession that had possessed him since Kate's death was now definitively sealed in the one name: Garrett Fowler.<p>

"You okay?"

Neal let his head drop, chuckling darkly as he brought himself back to the moment—back to Peter and the staged stakeout and the stale, sweaty smell of the van. "Yeah," he murmured, clearing his throat and turning to face his partner. "I'm not surprised—a part of me knew it had to be Fowler."

"We get him now, we can put him away," the agent told him earnestly, his expression no doubt satisfaction with the system lining up with his expectation of justice. Hopeful that Neal would feel it too.

But it wasn't justice. Not for Kate: she'd still be dead, still be burning to death in the flashes of the CI's mind. He could only let his head drop, unable to really respond to his friend's enthusiasm.

The ringing of Peter's cell phone interrupted their conversation, and Neal lowered his head as his heavy thoughts began to once again to consume him.

Only to be broken by one name. "Diana."

The consultant braced himself, knowing what was coming. Alex always was that good.

"Yes; what's going on?..." Crystal-blue eyes snuck a peak at his partner's face— disbelief, disappointment, anger, all somehow finding a place in his expression. He quickly looked back the other way.

Peter sighed loudly, hanging up the phone. Neal hated doing this to Peter, but the man would never understand…

The con schooled his features appropriately, giving nothing away. "What?"

"Don't do this Neal. Tell me you didn't do this." Peter was furious.

"Do what?" The guise was an easy one thus far; no lies necessary, no admission of guilt.

"Tell me you didn't steal the music box."

"What are you talking about? I'm right here." Neal wondered if Peter even heard him, or if maybe the agent knew him too well to even bother.

"It's been safe in Diana's apartment for months, and the minute I tell you about it, it disappears." Brown eyes stared him down accusingly, but the consultant couldn't help but wonder if they were more disappointed with the younger man or the one speaking to him.

"I didn't take it."

"You're not going to get away with this. You're not." The two men locked eyes, and all pretenses, all guilt faded from Neal's expression. He was adamant about his justice, and there was no doubt in his mind that Peter saw it.

Peter couldn't understand it, but Neal was getting justice for Kate—Fowler was going to pay.


	5. Hard Sell

Neal Caffrey sauntered into the ballroom, smiling and nodding at the men and women clustered in groups around the room. He walked toward the refreshment table, refreshing his glass of wine and circling back toward where Lauren, Jones, and Hughes stood.

"Hey guys," he greeted them cordially. "Jones, Hughes. Lauren, you look especially lovely this evening." He flashed a classic Caffrey smile.

"Thank you Neal," the brunette replied, always ready to accept a compliment from the consultant. Jones and Hughes acknowledged their teammate before continuing their conversation.

"I thought you hated these things," Lauren commented quietly to the con, taking a sip. "Something about _certain agents unwilling to let bygones be bygones, and let you and Peter do your jobs_?" She smirked and Neal shrugged.

* * *

><p>Cruz wasn't wrong. He'd been excited to go with Peter to a bureau commendation dinner when the El'd first suggested it: to walk in with his partner, wine, dine, and schmooze with the best of them. And his friend's wife hadn't been wrong about the overabundance of 10-year FBI pin-rings—he could more easily count who didn't have them than the other way around. Which was sort of the problem.<p>

The agents who didn't know Neal by sight saw him ringless and treated him like a kid: a pledge there to fawn over the big boys, asking him to get them drinks so the adults could talk. Which wasn't awful- Neal knew how to get on the good side of those types. But the agents that _did_ know him (outside of his team and some people in the office) treated him like a suspect and brought up his criminal past often, like the only reason he was there was to lift their wallets. Of course, this soon became sorely tempting after some agents felt the need to discuss his criminal status any time he _did_ manage to strike up the beginnings of a conversation with someone. Ruiz especially loved to walk up to any group he'd entered and inform him that just because he worked for Peter didn't mean he belonged there, any more than the drug dogs that work airport security do.

It might have been the first time Neal really had to work to maintain his cool exterior and have his charm get him nowhere. And he couldn't cling to Peter all of the time; the agent had his own obligations, and it would just confirm the CI's incongruity—which was ridiculous: Neal Caffrey fit in everywhere. Except here, where everyone seemed to instantly know and dislike him. He'd actually had to have _Hughes_ take pity on him and invite him to talk with a circle of higher ups.

So the first outing had gone really badly. He'd told Peter he was never going again, but he couldn't keep his word on that one. The next one he'd attended was two years later, when Lauren received recognition for bravery, and then again the next year with Jones receiving recognition for ten years of service; and one or two after that. However, even when his obligatory sentence was served, when Peter vouched for him and he was hired on full-time as a Bureau consultant, he stuck close by his team, because even as the rest of the department (besides Ruiz and his ilk) became used to him, even comfortable with his existence among them, he just couldn't get over the overwhelming feeling of not belonging. It would never took long for Kate, always stunning in the most beautiful dress and cool as a cucumber despite her discomfort with the Bureau, could whisper in his ear and convince him to apologize to Peter before ducking out early.

* * *

><p>However, Peter had insisted he come to this one: that he gussy up and sit at their table and watch the Department Head call name after name up to the podium to represent honor and commitment in the Bureau. And then afterwards the ex-con walked around, mingling and pretending to get along with the agents outside of his unit, exchanging vague pleasantries, before finding his team and actually enjoying himself for a little while.<p>

"Neal." Speak of the devil. The consultant turned toward his partner and friend as the agent, grinning from ear to ear, strode toward them. "Everybody," he called out. "Get over here."

Neal smiled in uncertainty as his entire White Collar Unit gathered over to the spot of the room where he'd situated himself. He suddenly felt his wife and El flank him, the breathtaking brunettes both giddy with excitement over something. He even noticed quite a few agents outside of their group looking on in curiosity.

"Neal Caffrey," Peter told him sincerely, proudly, with a look that always made Neal really feel like he mattered; like he really made a difference in the Bureau, and his team believed in him. The whole reason he'd stuck around all of this time could be wrapped up in Peter's expression right now. "For your continued commitment and excellence in service to the Department of Justice," he paused to pull a small box from his pocket. "We'd like to present you with this."

Neal's eyes widened as he took the box, opening it to reveal an FBI 10-year pin already converted to a band. He felt El hug him tightly, and Kate squeezing his arm as she kissed his cheek, but his eyes remained glued to the ring.

"Now, technically you aren't an agent, so it's not _exactly_ the same," Peter continued, and, upon closer investigation, his awed blue eyes noticed tiny custom changes to the pin—the federal insignia was the same, as well as the _"Dept of Justice" _inscription on the top. However, the metal was a different alloy (not by much, the ex-con could tell), and the bottom _"FBI" _caption was now replaced with _"CI"_, and Neal felt his grin widen. "But we felt you deserved some recognition for your work."

The younger man looked up, eyes glistening as he met Peter's, and he shook his head. "Thank you Peter; everyone." He laughed and slipped the ring on his pinky, as he had seen so many do before him, then cheered along as everyone clapped and extended their congratulations.

Ten years of doing something to be proud of. That thought alone would keep Neal smiling through the rest of the night.

* * *

><p>Neal stared in wonder at the band. "Will I get one?" he asked, eyes first to El, then her husband.<p>

"No," Peter replied, chuckling as the tension between the two of them finally broke.

Neal looked back at the ring, shaking his head as chagrin washed over him. "I'm sorry Peter," he told the agent sincerely.

Peter looked back at him in earnest. "I promise you," he assured his friend. "We'll figure out who it is."

"Whoever it is is with the Bureau."

Peter sighed, nodding his head. "Yep, that is a problem." He looked back at his CI. "But I need you to help me get Avery first: go in and play Reed against him."

"Make him think his partner's betraying him?" The two men smiled at the irony.

Peter shrugged. "Maybe he'll do something stupid."

Neal smiled and gathered his coat, standing as he looked between the couple. "Thank you guys."

Peter nodded, smiling reassuringly as his partner made for the door. "It's alright."

Peter had his back, Neal decided as he stepped out—maybe he'd get a pin someday after all.


	6. Pilot

Neal Caffrey flew through the streets of New York: the more time he took reaching his destination, the less likely he'd find what he'd been searching for. He didn't even bother to really appreciate the Mercedes he was driving: top down, wind in his hair, afternoon sun shining down on him. None of it mattered compared to where he was going.

The blue-eyed fugitive was still two blocks away when he'd become too anxious to sit and drive. It wasn't what he was running from—that he maybe had a three-to-five hour head start on the marshals, and the NYPD, and anyone else they'd thought to send after him. Neal was terrified of missing what he was running _to_. The con man double-parked the stolen car and slipped onto the sidewalk, breaking into a sprint as he sighted the building he was targeting.

* * *

><p>It'd been a month. A month since her words had painfully penetrated his heart; her sad sapphire-eyes had made him practically throw himself through the Plexiglas shield between them; her fingers sadly, half-heartedly waving at him as her perfect figure turned away and retreated down the hall. He'd gone hoarse screaming her name, desperately trying to get her attention. It was probably the first time Bobby'd had to physically remove him from the visiting area (the guard had almost called the infirmary, thinking he'd had a mental breakdown). And since then, nothing but plotting and planning and obsessing over getting back to her.<p>

The convict knew it was crazy. He knew that there were only a little more than four months left in his sentence, and then he'd be a free man. Neal knew that if he could just wait a little longer, then he could go back to life as he'd known it, a little more cautious perhaps, but more or less the same as he'd been.

But what kind of life could he go back to if he lost Kate again? He knew after her last visit that she'd never stick around for his sentence to be up so he could beg her to forgive him again, could convince her that he loved her and to come back-again. That just wasn't Kate.

* * *

><p>So now he raced along the residential streets, up the steps and through the address he'd hunted down for the last month. He fearfully took note of the empty rooms; the abandoned feel of the space.<p>

He turned the corner to the living room—now empty except a few lamps and knick-knacks she'd planned to leave behind—and fully emptied his lungs as he breathed a sigh of relief at the woman standing next to the back window, staring out into the city.

"Kate," he breathed, his face lighting up in relief and exhilaration at the sight of the woman he loved.

She whirled around, expression wide with shock at the man standing before her. "Neal?" she asked, not quite believing her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to find you," he told her earnestly.

She rushed toward him, grabbing his arm. He'd forgotten how soft her hands were; how amazing she smelled; even how beautiful she looked when her eyes flashed in anger. "You broke out? Neal, I can't believe you—"

"Please, don't do this." He took her hand, blue eyes penetrating hers deeply as he begged. "Don't leave me."

The brunette retreated slightly backwards, her arms across her chest as she tried to look away and Neal had to work to keep his obvious heartache from showing. "Neal, don't, please. I'm sorry—it's over."

"No," Neal had no idea when things had gone so badly for them. He'd known getting caught, getting incarcerated had put a strain on their relationship; but she'd been there every week, and it felt like they'd just been discussing their options for when he was released. "Kate, please. Whatever it is, I can fix it. I love you so much—just give me a chance; let me change it."

He didn't trust his own emotions, so he couldn't really tell if she was hesitating because she loved him just as much, or if she was just uncomfortable that she couldn't escape without one last face-to-face. Maybe both.

"How can you promise anything when as soon as they catch you you'll be going back to prison?" she asked.

"Just give me a chance," he pleaded again, taking another careful step forward, somewhat encouraged when she didn't back away. He moved closer, finally eliminating the space between them and able to take her arms in his hands. Neal met her beautiful eyes, still plagued with uncertainty, and let the sincerity of his love for her speak for him. "Whatever you want; whatever you need—you can tell me. Kate, I love you more than anything; you have to know that."

She was quiet a moment, but he watched joyfully as her expression slowly softened, and she smiled back up at him. He let his hand slide up her neck, cradling her jaw as he brought her lips to his and they shared their first passionate kiss in god knows how long.

When they broke apart, Neal's grin was so wide he felt his face could crack to accommodate it. Kate just beamed up at him, more beautiful than he thought he'd ever seen her.

As the moment passed, his lover's face became more serious, though still lighter than it had been. "We'll need to get you some papers—I've got a ticket to Newark; maybe we could make our way to Trudeau International from there?"

"Jump a plane to France?" Neal suggested, smirking slightly. "Start all over."

She smiled, and so did he, as they came together again, Neal sighed in relief and bliss. Sure he was on the run, wanted, and likely to never come back to New York (at least for a while), but he had the most important thing in his world, and, after liquidating some assets, they'd have all they'd ever need to make a new start. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

><p>Neal stirred from his restless sleep on his too-firm bed. He felt his eyelids pull apart, staring up at the cold ceiling of his cell from bloodshot eyes. As he sat up, he ran his hand over his face, pausing to curiously stroke the stubble gaining momentum on his jaw.<p>

_Adios Neal; it's been real._

It had been a week since her last visit, but Neal knew Kate wasn't coming today. A wave of nausea, of grief, swept over him, but he pushed it aside and stretched his muscles.

The afternoon mail would bring him a package: a manual on auto-repair. In four days the wife of the warden would come by mid-afternoon to "surprise" him for their sixteenth-year anniversary. He would use up his "good prisoner" credits for some library time to do some research on the internet tomorrow, and make a new mix-tape in the interim.

_Hold on Kate_, he told himself, he was coming, and he'd get his chance to make everything right again.


End file.
